Guide
by aussie-chick-13
Summary: To those who have seen the world past the looming city walls the silence is a reminder of what might come or what has already passed. Neither notion is comforting, neither are thoughts to dwell on. Not if one wishes to keep their sanity. one-shot


_So this is my first piece for AC. Do forgive any spelling/grammar errors. It's quite late for me. I don't know where the lack of names or present tense came from, I've never written like this before. This is, of course, inspired by the amazing piece 'Moonlight' by doubleleaf over on deviantart. I encourage you to go check out her work if you haven't already. It's pretty awesome._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy and as always reviews are love_

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><p>There are a few hours of the night where the world seems to stop and if you were to step outside it would not be hard to believe that you were the only person on the earth. Even in a city like Jerusalem with its rush and noise, a constant and endless flow of people that builds and grows during the day. Fuelled by the heat of the sun and the self-feeding cycle of energy that pours off the city's population. Even a city with a heartbeat so strong somehow brings itself to rest for just a short time each night under the watchful gaze of the stars.<p>

For a time the rest is peaceful. The city slumbers as the heat of the day radiates slowly off sun baked stones. For most the rest is rejuvenating and their sleep is peaceful, heads and hearts content. The street-venders, tailors, bakers, these are people not bothered by worldly matters. They have no concern for the darkness surrounding them. They are safe in their dreams, perhaps wrapped in the arms of a lover or they themselves are curled around the warm breathing body. The world is their city, their shop, their house. To them the silence is tranquil and the darkness is comforting, for soon the dawn will come.

But it is not that way for all. To those who have seen the world past the looming city walls the silence is a reminder of what might come or what has already passed. Neither notion is comforting, neither are thoughts to dwell on. Not if one wishes to keep their sanity.

It is this bleak silence and oppressive darkness, only broken by the half lit moon, that the man awakens to. For a moment he flounders in the dangerous void that lies between the real world and that of the dream. He does not know what woke him not does he fully remember the scene he was woken from.

He remembers panic, fear, yelling, the scream of a child and a burning pain in his arm. The sense of danger grips him. The lingering sting left by the kiss of a blade in his arm is pushed to one side. For now, it does not matter. He jerks upright.  
>His brother.<br>He must find his brother.  
>There is danger, it is not safe.<br>As he moves the man is thrown off balance. Something is not right. Something is missing.  
>The pain in his arm intensifies and then retreats, changing into a dull ache. He looks to his arm. Or what is left of it.<br>He is out of the void.  
>Back in reality.<br>He moves his legs over the side of his bed, resting bare feet on worn stones. He looks up as moonlight illuminates the selves opposite him. They are filled with old books. None of them are his. Neither are the blankets that keep him warm or the pillows he rests on.  
>This is not his home.<br>This is not what his life was supposed to be.  
>He was supposed to be happy. Instead he has lost a brother in blood and a brother in all but blood. He does not know what to do about his once-brother. Part of him wishes the brown-haired man was dead. Part of him wishes it would his hand that drives the lethal blade. He runs a weary hand over his face and cannot tell if it is sweat or tears he wipes away.<p>

The night feels dead and it is like time has stopped. The silence and darkness begin to close in and with them, thoughts of murder, revenge and retribution are brought. These are the dreams pulled out of the night. Dreams torn from the dreamscape and into the waking world that fill the shadows with whispers and promises. Darkness breeds darkness. Desires not mentioned in the light of day emerge. The mind is consumed, seduced by the cover that night brings. But this is a weak façade. Moonlight moves over the land like fire through a field. It strips away the cloak of darkness and leaves behind a harsh and cold reality. Loneliness, despair, guilt. It takes the shining brightness of the sun to banish the demons lured out by the night.  
>And in the darkness, the dawn seems an eternity away.<p>

A flutter of wings and a soft coo breaks the silence like the ripples of a stone dropped onto the glass-like surface of a lake. The man starts, his breathing hitches and he reaches for the dagger under his pillow instinctively. He stares in the blackness. There is another flutter of wings and the man nearly rolls his eyes. Just a carrier pigeon. He glances upwards. There is no haze on the horizon and dawn is still far off. It is too early for him to begin his duties but he knows that he will not be able to sleep again tonight. He stands and shivers slightly. While the days are a filled with intense heat, night brings with it much cooler temperatures. As if any reminders of the sun wish to escape the darkness that consumes the earth.

He pulls a loose shirt and his boots. He shrugs on the heavy robes that he often hates during the peak of summer but couldn't be more grateful for now. As he walks out to the main room he fastens the belt around his waist. The belt and sash have been cleverly stitched together and on to the robes. It is impossible to tell the difference and without it the man would not be able to wear the garb appropriate to his position. He sighs as he does so. Sometimes it is the small things. He struggles to untie messages or wash dishes. If a heavy book falls he cannot pick it up easily. These are the things that hurt him the most. They are the things he will not go a day without noticing. Constant reminders of a past injury and a past betrayal.

He walks to the tall cage that stands with an opening to the roof. The bird has flown down to nest with its mate and the man is able to remove the message from its leg. He returns to his desk, draws a small knife to break the wax seal and scans the message. It is the name of a target. No reason is given.  
>No reason is ever given.<br>The man sighs. A small sound in the silence that has once again fallen. He moves to a chest that contains the pure white feathers given as permission to begin a mission. He must do something or he fears his mind will drift back to the dream. He unlocks the heavy chest and lifts the lid. The man withdraws a feather and tucks it into his belt. He lowers the lid and relocks it, replacing the key in its jar. As he turns to return to his desk once more, the silence broken again.  
>A murmured voice that is barely heard despite the lack of any other noise.<br>Again a murmur, this time it is closely followed by a quiet hiss.  
>For a heartbeat the man stands frozen. Then his body is spurred into action. He draws a sword from the small number by his desk to be returned to their owners after visits to the blacksmith. With silence footsteps the man moves to the door that leads to the courtyard. He slowly unlocks the door and opens it. Moonlight floods small area.<br>There is no one there.  
>The man frowns. Perhaps the night is just playing tricks. Then movement catches his eye. In the far corner from the door there is a curled up bundle of...assassin. The man approaches, at first the assassin is facing the wall but as he draws close the sleeper rolls over. His lips move silently, forming words only heard by those in the dream. The man pauses. It is his once brother. The man looks from the assassin to the blade of his sword. For a moment the surface is black, reflecting the darkness that surrounds them and the man is tempted. His hand twitches. This assassin is responsible for so much, to think he was once called brother.<p>

The light shifts. Moonlight glints off the blade and onto the face of the dreaming man. His forehead is creased, the corners of his mouth turned down in worry or perhaps fear. The light sheen over his face and the paleness of his skin reveal a torment contained in the mind. The man hesitates.  
>This assassin is not the defiant, aggressive, foolhardy man responsible for the death of his brother.<br>He is a lost child.  
>Confused and alone, surrounded by false friends and dangerous allies.<br>He has not lost a brother in all but blood. His brother is simply lost. He needs a guide, as moonlight guides away the darkness. The man raises his eyes to the half-moon and then down to his brother.

Perhaps the dawn is not that far away at all.


End file.
